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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393734">My Russian Boytoy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverboyX/pseuds/loverboyX'>loverboyX</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>History - Fandom, Original Work, World War II - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Anal Sex, BDSM, Beating, Blood, Blue Balls, Body Worship, Bondage, Bruises, Bukkake, Cock &amp; Ball Torture, Concentration Camps, Cowgirl Position, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Dominatrix, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Facials, Female Ejaculation, Femdom, Gang Rape, Groping, Interrogation, Leather Kink, Licking, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Nazi Germany, Nazis, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prison, Prison Sex, Prisoner of War, Racism, Riding Crops, Sadism, Shower Sex, Small Penis, Solitary Confinement, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Threesome, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, Whipping, Women in the Military, World War II, Yandere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:14:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverboyX/pseuds/loverboyX</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the fall of 1942, a female Nazi officer grows bored and unsatisfied with her job as commandant of a prisoner-of-war camp.</p><p>That is, until, the boytoy of her dreams arrives at her prison one day like an answered prayer. Best of all, he's an inmate, which means this sadistic and sexually frustrated warden gets to do anything she wants with him...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fresh Meat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Day one. </p><p>I sat in my dark office, sunlight leaking through the blinds and casting illumination on my desk as I signed a mountain of paperwork sheet by sheet. Filling out inmate ledgers, calculating monthly budgets, writing correspondence to neighboring camps... It was dreadfully boring menial labor, but someone had to do it. Yet still. This time last year, I was fighting on the frontlines, leading entire battalions across Soviet Russia as an SS-Hauptsturmführer. As a child, I graduated top of my class in the League of German Girls, the female wing of Hitler Youth. I was born and bred to serve the Reich. My men and I slayed countless communist scum and captured numerous districts of Moscow. And yet there I was. Fall of 1942. "Promoted" to commandant of Stalag I-A E3, a prisoner-of-war subcamp right outside Königsberg. </p><p>It sounded like an honor at first, but then I learned it was nothing but a glorified desk job. A downgrade from my role in the Battle of Moscow, to say the least. There were always inmates to torture, of course. But these Soviets were so ugly, so filthy. I wouldn't dare stain my black leather gloves with their impure blood. I certainly didn't stop my men from having their fun if they so pleased, however. Although... A new batch of inmates were arriving this morning. Perhaps I'll get lucky and find a plaything my type. I checked the clock as it ticked away on my wall. It was almost 9:30 AM; minutes from the train's weekly delivery. I rose to a stand from my leatherbound office chair and stretched my long legs. I looked at myself in the mirror I had installed in the corner of my workplace.</p><p>I am a beautiful young woman, having just turned 24. As a matter of fact, I was born the 11th of November, 1918; the day the Great War ended. An immaculate Aryan, my flowing blonde hair nearly reaches the center of my back, and seems so bleached it's almost white. Chalk white, like my skin. My eyes are as cold as ice. My soldierly yet feminine build is athletic and subtly curvy, in large part to my healthy bosom. This is obscured, however, by the officer uniform I wear. A business jacket over a white dress-shirt and dark tie, along with a skirt and a pair of high-heeled jackboots. All black leather and tailored by Hugo Boss, topped with a peaked cap that bears the silver Roman Eagle. My coat is proudly decorated with a 1st Class Iron Cross medal pinned to my left breast for my service on the Eastern Front, as well as an armband of the Nazi swastika. This, of course, comes in the Imperial colors of red, white, and black.</p><p>I adjusted the tiny white frizzles of my hair before elegantly marching out of the administrative building, taking the scenic route to the train stop. Savoring the breath of fresh air, I took in my surroundings. The detention facility I managed was an outdoor campground caged by tall fences of barbed wire, overlooked by ominous and oppressive guard towers. Most buildings of the campus were brick barracks, but they were all currently unoccupied, as inmates were rightfully worked at this time of day. The sky was rather dreary and muggy this morning, bundled dark clouds trickling pitiful snowflakes down onto us. As I waited at the railroad with my hands tucked behind my back, I heard a train whistle approach. And sure enough, in the distance, I spotted a mighty steam locomotive carrying six freight cars behind it. Some were loaded with camp restocks, others were loaded with army supplies. Some were packed with Jews and Slavic civilians to be shipped to concentration camps on this transit system, but this was all irrelevant to my duties as prison commandant. </p><p>My only concern was with one of the cars, which held Soviet prisoners-of-war. The train squealed to a gradual halt in front of me, and the relevant freight car's door was slid open by one of the guards. Silhouettes slouched in the shadows of the unlit car, cringing at the sudden rush of light. While adjusting to their unfamiliar environment, the new arrivals weakly climbed out of the train, filing out one-by-one with the "help" of my soldiers holding them at gunpoint and barking orders. Once they stepped into the sunlight, it was clear that the fresh meat this week was a squad's worth of Russians. However, they were stripped of their Red Army gear and reduced to nothing but black-and-white striped inmate jumpsuits. The cold concrete ground stung their bare feet, to discourage them from running. They were no longer Soviet soldiers, but featureless and dehumanized POWs. </p><p>As expected, they were all thuggish-looking Slavic dogs, unshaven and rugged... Except for one of them. He was... God forgive me, he was beautiful. Cheekbones thin to the point of femininity, one flawlessly shaped jawline, symmetrical face arrangement, skin whiter than snow, lips thick and gorgeous, and not even the faintest trace of stubble. Not to mention his luscious lashes and perfectly trimmed eyebrows. Surely this soldier didn't have time for personal grooming on the battlefield. Was it possible he was this perfect-looking naturally? His eyes were baby blue, and his curls were almost golden in pigment. He was perfect! Well, his sockets were sunken in blackness, his back was hunched, and his hair was rustled, but that was only because of his miserable living conditions. Who knows how long he was cooped up in that cramp cargo train. This young man couldn't have been a dirty Slav. No, this was an angelic Aryan, I was certain of it. </p><p>Perhaps my feelings were juvenile and equatable to a secondary school crush, but I personally see it as a passionate appreciation for superior genes. I gestured two of my guards to usher the livestock away, while approaching the odd one out to indicate I took interest him, and that he wasn't to be touched... Unless I ordered so. Another guard kept an eye on us, however, just in case the prisoner tried anything stupid. I myself am around 170 centimeters tall, and I was eye-level with him. However, this was only because of his weakened slouch. He was likely closer to 175. Not only was I eye-level with him, but he maintained eye-contact with me, likely in an attempt at defiance, whether consciously or unconsciously. Knowing these stubborn Soviets, it was no doubt intentional. It was only natural. He had only just now arrived. Respect needs to be taught. Insolence needs to be corrected.</p><p>I gave him a sharp and harsh backhand across the cheek, staining his face with a red handprint. <i>"Do not look me in the eye, dog."</i></p><p>He closed his eyes and recoiled against the fierce slap. He relented and didn't dare look me in the eye again, but I could still detect a sense of disobedience and hatred lurking in his gut. Cute. I also noticed a silver chain hanging around his neck, stretching into the neckline of his jumpsuit. I reached down into his collar and fished out just what I presumed; a dogtag. It read <i>"CCCP"</i> and, more importantly, <i>"MAKAROV, DMITRI"</i>. In ugly Russian characters, of course, but due to my accursed perfectionism, I knew the language as fluently as German. </p><p>
  <i>"Hm, Dmitri Makarov... I'll keep my eye on you. But for now... Guards, take him to solitary confinement!"</i>
</p><p>My two most loyal dogs, SS-Rottenführer Wagner and SS-Schütze Dietrich, seized Dmitri by each his arms and dragged him off to the nearest prison building. Separated from his fellow inmates, to be locked away and forgotten in the darkest, quietest corner of my camp. I watched with a relaxed smile as he uselessly struggled against their grips and was carried out of sight. I could've spoiled myself and spent the rest of the day mercilessly torturing him. But I restrained myself. </p><p>I wanted to build an appetite first.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Under the Jackboot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Day three.</p><p>An influx of heavy paperwork occupied me for an entire day. From some perspectives, this was unfortunate. But, looking on the bright side, the anticipation could be savored. I could feel a hot ball of lust and sadism swelling in my stomach every second I spent away from Dmitri. Not only that, but my imagination of his psychological torment was delicious as well. At least his fellow inmates were spared the courtesy to bunk together, slave away together, shower together. Dmitri, on the other hand, was all alone for over 24 hours, segregated from his former brothers-in-arms. I vividly daydreamed the excruciating boredom and sensory deprivation gnawing away at his sanity. Admittedly, I got wet at the thought. But now, it was finally time to strike. My duties as camp secretary were fulfilled for the day, and a hardworking girl like me deserved some playtime. After locking my office, I made my way to the interrogation room with a manila folder in hand, walking down the halls with an elegant sway in my hips. </p><p>Echoes carried the taps of my high-heels across the building and I had arrived at my destination. The interrogation room was featureless concrete with one table and two chairs, all made of metal, and a dim light hanging above. I took a seat, opened my folder, and spread documents across the tabletop. The index fingertip of my glove scanned this week's inmate ledger. Lavrov... Loktev... Makarov. Here he was. The only information listed on him was his date captured and age (18 years). His unit, rank, and station were all unknown, due to the Red Army's brutish disorganization. At precisely 10:45 AM, the interrogation room's door opened once again. Dmitri was standing hunched in the doorway, and he looked even more sick and exhausted than when he got off the train, debilitated by a day of sensory deprivation. He maintained adequate hygiene, however, thanks to the sink and shower installed in or around his cell.</p><p><i>"Good morning, Mr. Makarov,"</i> I greeted in Russian as Wagner dragged him by his collar to the other chair, throwing him down into the seat across from me. Wagner then left the room, standing watch outside like the guard dog he was. <i>"I hope you slept well."</i></p><p><i>"I didn't,"</i> he responded gloomily, his first words to me. I could tell, at one point, he had the voice of a choir boy. But days, weeks, months of misery even before his imprisonment made his inflection harsh and tired.</p><p>I couldn't help but chuckle at his bluntness. <i>"Oh, and please excuse any blemishes in my Russian. I'm still learning."</i> I was, of course, being patronizing. My Russian was perfect. In fact, I even could've imitated the accent if I wanted to. But why would I want to? </p><p>Admittedly, I began the interrogation with a burning, rhetorical question than a professional one. <i>"Before we begin proper, I must ask; what is your ethnicity, Mr. Makarov?"</i></p><p>Dmitri paused for a moment, not expecting a personal inquiry. <i>"I don't know... White? Caucasian?"</i></p><p>
  <i>"I was hoping for either 'Germanic' or 'Slavic', but clearly a Soviet dog like you received no education in genetics. You'd probably breed with an animal if you were desperate enough."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"What do genes have to do with anything?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Everything! Genes are the foundation of life. Just as deer are the natural prey of wolves, Slavs are the natural prey of Aryans, for genetics dictate as such. You don't have to worry about that, however. You and I are kindred spirits. Fellow Aryans."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Aryan? My family has lived in Russia for cent-"</i>
</p><p>I slammed my hand down on the table before he could finish that sentence, scaring the soul out of him with a deafening thud. <i>"Nonsense! You're too perfect-looking to have even a drop of Slavic blood in your body. No, your Aryan genes were simply corrupted by degenerate culture from the East. It's a shame, really. In another life, you could've been my husband..."</i></p><p>That little remark of mine slipped out, admittedly. Dmitri blushed ever-so slightly. <i>"Excuse me, I'm getting off-topic,"</i> I continued. <i>"Now, onto more relevant matters, what unit of the Red Army do you belong to?"</i> I stifled a chuckle before correcting myself. <i>"<b>Did</b> you belong to, rather..."</i></p><p><i>"103rd Guards Rifle Regiment... 34th Division,"</i> he answered in his typical monotone.</p><p>
  <i>"Mhm, and where were you captured?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Stalingrad."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Ah, Stalingrad! The town that bears the very name of the Führer's arch-nemesis. Tell me, what is the Soviet death toll there? It was around a million, last time I checked..."</i>
</p><p><i>"Couldn't have been much more than the German death toll,"</i> Dmitri sarcastically muttered. </p><p>It was a harmless and pitiful little attempt at offending me, but absolutely no impudence could go unpunished. Thus, I gave him the proportionate punishment of another simple slap in the mouth, reaching across the table to do so. </p><p><i>"Choose every word you say to me carefully, Makarov,"</i> I uttered cold and angrily, with a death glare in my eye.</p><p>I eased back into my chair, adjusted my composure, and continued on with the interrogation. <i>"Anyways, the 34th is a shifty unit -- I once encountered them at Leningrad. Always plotting schemes as its fellow divisions charge into the meat grinder. Surely your regiment was coordinating some sort of slimy maneuver before you were captured?"</i></p><p>Dmitri's eyes shifted subtly. <i>"I'm just a private. I didn't overhear any battle plans. I just hid in bombed-out buildings and avoided tank patrols!"</i></p><p>It was somewhat true. An expendable grunt wouldn't exactly be carrying the Schlieffen Plan on him. But I still had a gut feeling he was hiding something. Taking the interrogation up a notch, I reached into my holster and drew my sidearm; a sleek, black Walther PPK polished to perfection and fully loaded. </p><p>I held the Russian at gunpoint as I demanded, <i>"On your feet."</i></p><p>He pouted angrily before reluctantly rising to a stand. I stood as well, circling around the table to confront him face-to-face. My gaze never left his eyes, and my aim never left his heart.</p><p><i>"Now..."</i> The tension in the room shifted entirely with only three simple words. <i>"Drop your pants."</i></p><p>Dmitri was so confused I bet he thought he misheard. <i>"...What?"</i></p><p>I threateningly pulled the hammer back on the pistol. <i>"Drop. Your. Pants."</i></p><p>His face sunk into despair once he began to comprehend the depths of how far I was willing to humiliate him. I bet he wasn't expecting <i>this</i> kind of interrogation. He huffed and begrudgingly dropped his striped pants to the ground, baring everything below his waist. Then, I dropped <i>him</i> to the ground with a pistol-whip to the head. As he writhed bottomless on the floor, I could bask in the sight of his half-naked body. A shriveled worm of a soft, sheathed cock sat atop a small but plump scrotum on his glabrous crotch. I smirked at his admirably pitiful manhood, though to call him a "man" was a stretch. I gently stepped down on Dmitri's exposed cock with my ridged leather sole. He immediately froze in shock, knowing all it would take was the stamp of my jackboot to smear his sex across the floor. </p><p><i>"Are all you Russians this small?"</i> I callously mocked with him underneath me.</p><p>My sharp heel stabbed into his scrotum, only a few pascals away from piercing skin. I gradually applied more and more pressure to my right sole, until I was weighing almost all 58 of my kilograms directly onto Dmitri's poor little cock. He squealed like a baby, trying and failing miserably at hiding his pain. </p><p><i>"Fuck...!"</i> he whined, voice higher than a little girl's. He was so nauseated with agony I could almost smell the vomit in his breath. </p><p>His face was crimson red and his eyes were glistening with tears. I could hear his testes begin to crackle beneath my heel. All I'd have to do is stomp and I'd emasculate the poor boy. I sadistically grinded the balls of my sole, twisting them left and right, making Dmitri's testicles churn excruciatingly in his scrotum like the stirring of a pot. He weakly grabbed the ankle of my boot and desperately tried at alleviating the pressure, failing. </p><p>I could see a wire finally snap in his brain. <i>"OKAY, OKAY, I'LL TELL YOU! Th-The 103rd is planning an ambush at Lenin Square! I-I don't remember the date, I swear to God!"</i> he begged tearfully. <i>"J-Just... Please!"</i></p><p>Some women like men who are tough to crack, that armor themselves with brattiness and fiestiness and machismo. Some women like a challenge. I don't. I like swift and brutal victory. </p><p>I smiled. <i>"Good boy."</i></p><p>Relenting, I pulled my foot away. His reddened crotch was stained by dirt in the shape of a bootprint. I was tempted to wring Dmitri dry of every little secret he had, but once again, I restrained myself. If I concentrated a grueling gauntlet of torture into a single session, he'd get numb to the pain. No, every blow I dealt needed to be cold, calculated, and fresh. I needed to make him sting. Thus, I remained patient and content with the information I had acquired for now. </p><p><i>"Guard!"</i> I called out. </p><p>As Wagner entered the room, Dmitri hurriedly pulled his pants back up to hide his privates. <i>"Yes, mein Fräulein?"</i> the soldier asked.</p><p>
  <i>"I'm done with this worm for today. Take him back to his cell."</i>
</p><p>Desperate to not get manhandled again, Dmitri scrambled to his feet and approached the door himself. Wagner ushered him out of my sight, and I was left alone in the interrogation room. For the rest of the day, I fantasized vividly about the sensation of Dmitri squirming beneath my sole like the insect he was. It was so empowering, so invigorating, so... right. I look forward to reclaiming this high tomorrow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Third Degree</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Day four.</p><p>Alone in the interrogation room, my legs were crossed as I passed the time by applying a touch of makeup. With one hand, I held an open pocket mirror, and with the other, a brush with its bristles soaked in foundation powder. I carefully colored my complexion and covered blemishes as I stared into the small, round reflection in my palm. Life for a German girl in the military is complicated. You must match the soldierly strength of your masculine counterparts while also maintaining a womanly beauty. On the battlefield, cosmetics are a low priority, but you can't separate a girl from her makeup, like how you can't separate a man from his coffee. </p><p>But I suppose I technically wasn't on the battlefield anymore, was I? And I did have something of a "boyfriend" now. I use this term facetiously, of course, but I suppose he is... the center of my world. The only source of excitement in the monotony of my desk job. I've missed the sensation of making Soviets squirm. I admit, I think of him day and night. The point is, I was slightly more concerned with my appearance than usual. Once my face was perfected, I packed my makeup kit back into my coat and patiently waited for my captive to arrive. Just as yesterday, Dmitri entered the interrogation room escorted by a guard, this time Dietrich, whom seated him and wasn't gentle about it.</p><p>
  <i>"Hello again, Mr. Makarov. I do hope you missed me as much as I missed you."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"What are we doing here again? I already told you everything I know!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I'm a thorough woman, Mr. Makarov. Oh, and Dietrich? Before you leave, be a dear and tie our guest to the table, please."</i>
</p><p>Dmitri did a double-take. <i>"Wait, what?"</i></p><p>In one swift motion, Dietrich seized the inmate by a handful of his hair and slammed him into the table's surface face-first. I never got tired of watching that boy get manhandled. He pinned one of Dmitri's wrists to the top right corner of the table and tied it down to the closest leg with a black restraining cable. He repeated the action three more times on Dmitri's other wrist and ankles, helplessly bounding him on his belly, spread-eagle across the tabletop.</p><p><i>"Hey!"</i> Dmitri grunted angrily. He struggled and tugged on his restraints, but all four were locked tight.</p><p><i>"Thank you, Dietrich,"</i> I said. <i>"You are relieved."</i></p><p>The guard left as quickly as he came, leaving Dmitri, now in inescapable bondage, and I alone once more.</p><p>I stood up and circled around the table so I could gently caress his cheek. <i>"Now... I know you're holding out on me, Mr. Makarov."</i></p><p>Dmitri whimpered, knowing there was no lie on earth that would call me off. I drew a black leather riding crop I had hanging from my belt, a little something I always had stashed away in my office. After retiring from the SS Cavalry Brigade, I never thought I'd have to use it again. Life is funny sometimes. </p><p>I threateningly slapped my palm with the horsewhip. With a demented smile, I said gleefully, <i>"This is the fun part."</i></p><p>A professional interrogator would've framed this with a question, but this was personal. It wouldn't have mattered if Dmitri sang like a canary bird right then and there; I was going to torture this boy to the point of tears no matter what. I pantsed him just like yesterday, this time to expose his bare posterior as it stuck up in the air. I couldn't help but blush at the sight.</p><p><i>"Oh God!"</i> he muttered miserably under his breath, bracing for defilement.</p><p>His cheeks must've been at least nine kilograms of fat, perfectly spherical hills of chub wrapped in silky smooth skin. He shuddered against the cold leather of my glove as I indulged in some groping, feeling his fat fill my palms and knead between my fingers. My fingertips also trickled down his thighs, appreciating his womanly thickness. I then began whipping the boy like I once did my warhorse, cracking my riding crop against his buttocks time and time again. Dozens of pink lashes were torn into his rear, scarring the skin. My pace was cold and steady, but the strength behind my swings was fueled by the infernal fires of Hell. He yelped just like an abused dog with each and every thwack of my whip, whimpers and sobs mixed in. His cheeks jiggled akin to mounds of jello, swelling with a tomato red pigment that burned through his ghastly skin. Every lash tore away at his sanity, and finally, after five minutes of pummeling, he broke. Just in time too. My arms were getting dreadfully sore.</p><p><i>"Barmaley Fountain!"</i> he confessed feverishly. <i>"A tank platoon is passing through Barmaley on the 29th! That's all I know, I swear!"</i> he whined, face soaked with sweat and tears.</p><p>I chuckled as I tucked the whip behind my back. <i>"There! That wasn't so hard, was it?"</i></p><p>A deal's a deal, I suppose. I could've continued whipping him, but everything needs moderation, even cruelty. I untied all four of Dmitri's restraints and let the boy loose. The first thing he did with his newfound freedom was tenderly rub his poor tortured bum, groaning and hissing in self-pity as his cheeks burned bright.</p><p><i>"Guess you won't be sitting for a while, won't you?"</i> I asked with another giggle. <i>"We're done here. Guard!"</i></p><p>The door swung open immediately and Dietrich marched in. Without another order needing to be issued, he grabbed Dmitri by his forearm and pulled him to his feet, yanking him away and back to his cell. This left me alone to cool down from the fiery session of "interrogation". I sat down at the table, unpocketed a fine-tipped pen, and used it to document the fruits of my questionings. <i>"Ambush at Lenin Square, tank patrol at Barmaley on the 29th,"</i> I wrote down as I began a note to send to my higher-ups. </p><p>Hours later, I stayed up late to finish up filing out some ledgers. The only sounds in my eerily quiet office were the ticking of the clock and the scribbling of my pen. My mind drifted as I zoned out, my paperwork mere mindless muscle memory at this point. Like a shower thought, glimpses of Dmitri crept into my empty mind. He was... undressing. His naked body... His bruises, his womanly curves... He was surrendering. He was surrendering himself...to me. A whole man's life. In my rightful hands. The stain on my lap grew uncomfortably damp. The temptation of masturbation was easy to dismiss, but then I humored the possibility... I was completely alone. No one would catch me, and I certainly had nothing better to do. Oh, to Hell with it. I put down my pen and propped my foot up on the edge of the desk, which drew my knee to my chest and spread my loins wide. I cautiously reached down into the waistband of my skirt and plunged my hand into my drenched panties. </p><p>I began tracing my index and middle fingers up my soaked labia, teasing myself. The two fingertips pressed down on my swollen clitoris, rubbing it in a circular motion before delving into the slit of my lips and filling up my insides like a phallus. I fingered myself excitedly, bucking my waist forward so every centimeter of my two digits were swallowed by my own wet cunt. If I had went any further, I would've been fisting myself! As a teenager, I played around with myself and some boyfriends, so this wasn't a new sensation to me, getting the fleshy, damp walls of my vaginal canal violently caressed. But it had still been years. My womanhood squished and squelched as glistening streams of vaginal lubrication ran down my inner thigh. I closed my eyes and got lost in my imaginations of Dmitri; broken and bloodied, naked and inside of me, worshiping me, submitting to me, treating me like the goddess I am to him. Fuck yes... </p><p><i>"Dmitri... Dmitri!!~"</i> I gasped to myself as my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I covered my mouth to muffle a girlish shriek of ecstasy as I came so hard my hips shifted in my seat. </p><p>My vagina tensed and constricted so unrelentingly it felt like I was giving birth. It only lasted for a few seconds, but each one felt like a whole minute of shameful bliss. I panted exhaustedly once it finally subsided. I couldn't even <i>remember</i> the last time I got off like that. For the first time since joining the war effort, I truly felt like a woman again. I carefully withdrew my hand from my skirt. My leather glove glistened with translucent slime. Even though no one was around, my white skin was consumed with the redness of embarrassment. I went slump in my chair and gazed out into deep space. My mind sizzled and crackled with shifting hormones. Perhaps I needed this boy more desperately than I previously thought...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lick Your Wounds</h2></a>
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    <p>
  
</p><p>Day six.</p><p>I marched down the concrete corridors of the prison building with Wagner and Dietrich at my shoulders, our three sets of bootsteps in perfect synchronization. Soon enough, we arrived at my slave's solitary confinement cell. Dietrich unlocked the secured metal door and held it open for me almost gentlemanly. Dmitri's dungeon was as miserable as I left it. A closet-sized room with a toilet, sink, and "bed". I use "bed" lightly because it was just a twin-sized mattress on the floor. No frame, no sheets, no pillows. And no heating either, of course. I'm certain Dmitri hasn't gotten a single wink of rest since the six days he's slept here, as the shivering black cold of each night no doubt kept him up. Meanwhile, I slept like a baby every night, in my fresh warm sheets.</p><p>He was served only one daily meal; a tray of mashed potatoes, a dinner roll, glazed carrots, and a small carton of milk. And he was only let out five minutes a day, to bathe himself in the shower down the hall. His daily routine consisted of nothing but "sleeping", eating, showering, brushing his teeth, and waiting. Waiting endlessly, for nothing. I assume he preoccupied himself with exercise, as he maintained a somewhat consistent athletic build throughout the entire week; little weight loss. When I found him that morning, he was in the shadowed corner, curled up into the fetal position on his bed like a mental patient in a padded cell. It was obvious he was mindlessly twiddling his toes -- his only method of entertainment, before my visit perked him up.</p><p>
  <i>"Good morning, Mr. Makarov. How's my favorite prisoner today?"</i>
</p><p><i>"Miss!"</i> he exclaimed my generic title in surprise, almost excitedly so. It was clear he was learning to look forward to our encounters. No matter how painful they were, it was his only human contact in the past week. </p><p><i>"You will refer to me by my appropriate title; Hauptsturmführer,"</i> I swiftly reprimanded. <i>"...On second thought, your dirty Slavic tongue probably wouldn't even be able to harness such beautiful linguistics. Let's make it easier for you; just call me 'Führer'."</i></p><p><i>"...Y-Yes, my Führer,"</i> he shamefully muttered with a shallow expression. Having to resort to Nazi manners stung him, and God, I loved it.</p><p><i>"Do you like the Führer, Dmitri? <b>The</b> Führer, I mean,"</i> I asked, further testing his loyalty.</p><p><i>"Hell no,"</i> he spat bluntly, without hesitation. <i>"He's fascist scum."</i></p><p>Yes. Perfect. I was looking for an excuse to have him beaten. I didn't <i>need</i> one, of course, but I enjoy formalities.</p><p>
  <i>"Oh, is that so? Then perhaps we should show you how we do it here in Germany."</i>
</p><p>All I had to do was snap my fingers. And thus, my dogs were sicced on him. They stepped around me and surrounded Dmitri like bullies about to pounce. Their hands clenched into fists, which they promptly sent pounding into the prisoner by the dozens. They battered and brutalized him, and God, was his pain delicious. He was soon on the floor, curled up in a ball and weeping as he was beaten into a stain on the ground. A kick to the temple sent a stream of blood careening all the way down to his jawline. A punch to the left socket was sure to soon result in a black eye. Another punch to the chin nearly dislocated his jaw, but ultimately only busted his lip, and another broke his nose. A series of kicks to the stomach, if I had to estimate, cracked around three or four ribs. </p><p><i>"That's enough,"</i> I called my dogs off. I didn't want him too beaten up, after all. A swollen face isn't a pretty one. </p><p>They, of course, relented without one extra punch or kick in their unwavering obedience.</p><p>
  <i>"Leave us, guards. Leave the keys as well."</i>
</p><p><i>"Yes, mein Fräulein,"</i> they said in unison, doing as ordered. </p><p>Dmitri laid curled up on the floor, cowering in my shadow, in a puddle of his own blood. He grunted, shuddered, and hissed, clenching his eyes and teeth in a desperate attempt at wrangling the wildfire of pain that scorched his body. I crouched down, grabbed a tuft of his hair, and peeled his broken face from up off the floor. Enchanted by a streak of blood trickling from his temple, I leaned in and dragged my tongue across his cheek. My cold saliva stung his skin as my taste-buds were ignited by the wondrously metallic flavor of blood. </p><p>While my lips were so close to his ear, I took the opportunity to whisper, <i>"See you tonight~."</i></p><p>I let go, rose to a stand, and gracefully strutted out the cell, leaving Dmitri alone to squirm with broken bones. I spent the next twelve hours making my daily rounds about the camp; overseeing interrogations, executions, and slave labor. My mind was on autopilot throughout every second of it, however. My true focus was on daydreams of Dmitri, fantasizing about what I would do to him once my shift was over. And those fantasies eventually came true. The prison went dark and quiet as the night settled in. I was likely the only one stirring in the entire facility by 8 PM. I made myself through the blackened halls, guided by moonlit windows. I arrived at Dmitri's isolated cell and invited myself in, with the help of a ring of keys.</p><p>He was sleeping in his bloodstained sheets, but was stirred awake by my entrance. He moaned groggily, confused and half-asleep. <i>"M-My Führer?"</i></p><p>Ignoring him, I sat down at his bedside and held his face so I could get a good look at him and assess the damage from earlier that morning. Bruises and scars take a while to form. Injuries are like wine. The older, the finer. I have something of a flesh wound fetish, I presume. I almost feel like a connoisseur of pain. Dmitri's left eye socket was swallowed with a big ugly bruise. He was still bloodied, especially in the corner of his busted lip, but the blood had dried and caked to his skin like a dark red crust. I unzipped his inmate top so I could see the rest of him. My heart dipped with sexual excitement when I saw how his trunk looked like. His smooth, pale, thin abdomen was riddled with large purple stains. Glorious bruises, each denoting a cracked rib beneath. My cold, leathery fingertips traced across the outline of his abs, feeling the thick welts. I lightly pressed down on one of the bruises, which predictably made him recoil and hiss in agonizing soreness. Which, in turn, made me smile. </p><p><i>"You're so much more beautiful like this,"</i> I remarked. <i>"Bruised and bloodied. It's like makeup. The final gorgeous touch to your exterior."</i></p><p><i>"...You... You think I'm beautiful?"</i> Dmitri asked with child-like simplicity.</p><p>There was something... wholesome about that response. What I was saying was so twisted, how I preferred him looking sick and injured instead of happy and healthy. Yet the depravity was completely lost on his naive mind. All he seemed to care about was that I complimented him, in my own demeaning way. I looked down at my uniform; a black fabric barrier between myself and Dmitri. Perhaps my lovely inmate earned himself a quick peek... I undid each and every button on my coat, dress-shirt, and skirt, opening a window to the pallid skin upon my chest, abdomen, and legs. I slid my bare feet out of my boots as well, to make things more comfortable. With dumbstruck eyes, Dmitri couldn't help but stare at the partial glimpse at my bare breasts, womanly curves, and thick thighs. Being a soldier, I'm sure he was touch-starved to the point of sexual malnourishment. Oh, who am I kidding. His boyish age, coupled with his beta male personality and very unimpressive manhood, made it almost certain he was a virgin. I was probably the first half-naked woman outside of pornographic magazines he had ever seen. I pulled my legs up onto the bed and spread them wide, with Dmitri sitting between them. He ogled stupidly at every cell of exposed skin I trusted him with like the hormonal boy he was. It was quite cute, actually.</p><p><i>"Worship me,"</i> I gently demanded.</p><p>My pet hesitated, but I quickly fixed that by pulling my coat open further to the threateningly bare the Walther pistol tucked into the inner pocket. Pouting, Dmitri leaned in so close I could feel his body heat and began reluctantly riddling my body with smooches, essentially at gunpoint. Kisses upon the sides of my breasts, down each and every one of my six faint abs, all the way down to my panties, stuck to my skin from moisture. He licked my clothed crotch before nudging my underwear to the side so he could worship the bare pubic mound of my shaved groin. He kissed my inner thighs as his arms wrapped around my legs for leverage, gradually settling into a proper cunnilingus position. At last, his lips met mine, making love to my soggy vulva. The touch of his mouth on the most sensitive area on my body made me shudder with weakness, burying my head into the mattress as my back arched. He drew his tongue up my labia before wrapping around my clitoris as it tried hiding underneath a fleshy hood. Clearly having never done oral before, his tongue clumsily wrestled with the pink, hyper-sensitive gland and was somehow losing. His sloppiness actually only added to the pleasure, however. There was something raw and unpredictable about it.</p><p>I bit my lip so hard I almost drew blood, letting loose a pathetic squeal as I tried to stay quiet. <i>"Oh Gott, fick ja... Ohhh, Scheiße..."</i> I swore under my breath in my native tongue. </p><p>Then, finally, he straight up buried his face in my crotch and his tongue plunged into my pussy, sloppily exploring the wet cavern. I could tell he almost instantly grew addicted to the tropical and fruity taste of my natural lubricant. I clutched his head desperately, clinging onto two tufts of his silky golden hair. Drool formed on his chin as he reached in as deep as he could, the tip of his tongue brushing across my G-spot. The split-second burst of hyper-sensitivity made me jolt and squeal. I could feel Dmitri's lips curl into a cheeky smile as they pressed against my vulva. He had found my weak-spot, my number one erogenous zone. It was a small bump on the roof of my vagina, the most concentrated bundle of sexually-sensitive nerves of my entire being. Dmitri licked it without an inkling of mercy or subtly, eating out and digging in like a ravenous animal. I hated this. I was supposed to be the one in control. I wanted to call this rabid dog down, but I just couldn't. The pleasure was too overwhelming and incapacitating. </p><p><i>"MmMNNGH~!!"</i> I choked back squealing Dmitri's name with all my will as I approached an orgasm.</p><p>I went cross-eyed and my reddened face poured with tears and sweat as my body was suddenly attacked by a pleasure that electrified my every hormone and drove me insane with ecstasy. Within mere moments of my G-spot being tongued, my pussy spewed and gushed like a firehose, almost choking Dmitri with an influx of squirt juice. He coughed and sputtered, surely feeling waterboarded by the sudden blast of vaginal lubricant. My boytoy was shocked wide awake by the cold wet explosion in his mouth, nose burning as it oozed squirt. Juxtaposed next to him was myself, a barely conscious mess, nearly knocked clean out by the faint-inducing high of estrogen. He looked up at me, his exhausted master, with an uncertain gaze. A tiny, easy-to-miss smile curled into his lips. I simply lacked the energy to restrain myself from smiling back. After regaining my composure, however, I returned to my callous self. I couldn't show too much weakness to my captive. With my hand already gently placed upon his forehead, I shoved him off of me in disgust.</p><p><i>"Don't get too comfortable, worm,"</i> I scolded with an icy tone. <i>"Never forget that you are a pet to me; nothing more."</i></p><p>Dmitri's gaze recoiled despondently, looking down at the stained mattress. <i>"Yes, ma'am..."</i></p><p>As I redressed myself, my mind reviewed today's events. This was a productive day. My first truly sexual encounter Dmitri went surprisingly well. If he's naturally this good at pleasuring me, I should have him easily groomed into the perfect boytoy by the end of the month. Before my very eyes, this once monotonous labor camp was slowly turning into my tailor-made paradise.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Hell Hath No Fury...</h2></a>
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</p><p>Day nine.</p><p>I spent the morning in the camp's laundromat, washing a load of uniforms. While my clothes were still tumbling around in the dryer, I wandered into the corner of the laundry building where the inmates' confiscated clothes were dumped and forgotten about. As I stared at the assortment of crumbled fatigues in disgust towards the Soviets' fashion sense, my nostrils were caught by a wonderfully familiar smell. It was the stench of a one-of-kind musk, one I recognized immediately and knew well. In hindsight, I'm ashamed to say, but I sniffed out Dmitri's uniform like a dog. The scent formed a pleasant fragrance that aroused me as if it were a mating pheromone. God, I would pay a million dollars to bottle his aroma as a perfume. The Red Army uniform consisted of a short trenchcoat and cargo pants, both encrusted in the snow of the Russian winter and colored a dark mustard green. </p><p>The pile of clothes also contained a pair of black leather boots, fleece fingerless gloves, and a green military cap that bore the ugly Soviet symbol; a golden hammer and sickle contained within a red star. I spent longer than I'd care to admit on my knees huffing the lap of Dmitri's cargos. When my nose moved onto savor the smell of his coat, something fell out of it onto the floor. He had his war journal smuggled into his fatigues. Oh. Interesting. The professional hemisphere of my brain looked forward to probing it of possible Soviet secrets, while my more personal side was excited to snoop through Dmitri's personal belongings and violate his privacy. It was an eyesore to read, but I managed. Dmitri's writing was sloppy chicken scratch, and his Russian grammar was broken. Poor, filthy, uneducated little peasant boy.</p><p>
  <i>"10th of October. I've finally left the Gulag. I haven't seen the outside world in over three years. My father and I were arrested for being "filthy Kulaks". He died last year. Succumbed to disease, the cold, exhaustion, I don't know. I thought I was going to die in here too. But the government offered me a chance to leave once I turned 18, as long as I joined the Army and defended the Motherland. I'm being shipped to Stalingrad tomorrow. I've always wanted to visit there."</i>
</p><p>Dmitri was... a Kulak? Persecuted by Stalin's regime long before we even invaded? I couldn't believe it, but my black heart actually managed to muster some sympathy. Dmitri went from a childhood in the Gulag, to a penal battalion on the frontlines of Stalingrad, to torturous internment at a prison camp. No wonder I can't break him. The poor boy was practically <i>born</i> broken. Perhaps I should go easier on him... I continued reading, skipping ahead a couple pages.</p><p>
  <i>"27th of October. I've seen many terrible things in Stalingrad. The streets are all lined with mutilated, frozen corpses. Hundreds of them, thousands of them. I want to desert so bad. But my sergeant keeps telling me 'Not a step back!' He won't even let us retreat in hopeless gunfights. He told me, if I even think about going anywhere but forward, he'll kill me himself. This is worse than the Gulag."</i>
</p><p>This diary entry was even more enlightening. Of the three miseries Dmitri has faced in his life -- Gulag, Stalingrad, and Stalag, it seems that my camp is the <i>nicest</i>. Maybe that explains why he's so submissive. I'm <i>spoiling</i> him, compared to how his own people treated him.</p><p>
  <i>"2nd of November. Some black-suited fascists have the entire district on lockdown. No way in, no way out. According to Alexei, they're called the "Schutzstaffel". Hitler's handpicked bodyguards. They patrol the streets of Stalingrad in tanks. Some of them are even equipped with gas-masks and flamethrowers. I don't think I'm going to make it out of this city alive. But that's okay. If I die, I die for the Union."</i>
</p><p>That was the last entry. He must've been compromised and captured soon after. I skimmed the entirety of his journal for the sake of thoroughness. No useful intelligence, but I was nonetheless entertained by his embarrassing secrets. His pathetic crushes on the female soldiers in his squad, his tendency to wet his sleeping bag every night, his insecurity over his virginity and small manhood... The diary was also bookmarked by two black-and-white photographs. The first one was marked '42 in the corner by a marker, and was taken of Dmitri with two of his friends in the Army. They were all good-looking young men with big smiles, Soviet fatigues, and Model 1891 Mosin Nagant rifles slung over their shoulders. Dmitri looked so handsome in his uniform. Even if that uniform was the enemy's, there was something about a man in a suit I couldn't resist. I did get irrationally jealous at the sight of Dmitri enjoying the company of others, however. Then I looked at the next photo. It was Dmitri.</p><p>Kissing a woman.</p><p>Some dirty whore in the Red Army. Must've been that 'Katyusha' slut he mentioned in one of the diary entries. I soon got lightheaded with anger and jealousy as I stared at the photograph. My heart-rate, breathing, and blood pressure all skyrocketed at the thought of Dmitri with another woman. A hormonal fury clouded by mind like poison gas, inflamed even further by my menstrual cycle. Dmitri needed to <i>pay</i> for this...</p><p>Half an hour later, I was crouched down at the foot of my fireplace, prodding charred firewood with a poker. The door opened behind me, as I had summoned Wagner and Dietrich to my office. Standing shoulder to shoulder, my two bodyguards greeted me with the Roman salute. They were both rugged Aryans. Hulking and muscular men that stood at around 185 centimeters, with chiseled jawlines and disciplined death stares. They were both dressed in black fatigues and matching Stahlhelms. Poster boys for the Master Race and hot hunks of men, for sure, but I personally prefer pretty boys like Dmitri. Easier to enslave. Once the fire was potent enough, I cast Dmitri's personal belongings into the flames, watching them get eaten away into crackling embers with an empty gaze. After scratching my itch of pettiness, I rose to a stand and turned to face my guards, whom were patiently waiting for me to address them. </p><p>
  <i>"Wagner... Dietrich..."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Yes, mein Fräulein!"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"What act does Paragraph 175 of the German Criminal Code condemn?"</i>
</p><p><i>"Unnatural sex acts committed between persons of male sex!"</i> they repeated verbatim.</p><p>
  <i>"Correct. Now, are you more loyal to the German Criminal Code, or me?"</i>
</p><p>Wagner and Dietrich hesitated for a moment, their eyes darting at each other before answering. <i>"We are soldiers, mein Fräulein. We follow the orders given to us. If a superior officer ordered us to break every law in the German Criminal Code, we would do so with the efficiency of an Übermensch."</i></p><p>I smiled gleefully. <i>"Excellent. I want Makarov broken in the way only an intrusive cock could. I want the two of you to permanently stain his mind, body, and soul with hours of gang rape."</i></p><p><i>"Whatever you command, my Fräulein,"</i> they said with a slight sigh of relief that it was Dmitri whom I ordered them to fuck. Dmitri was the type of boy even the most bigoted of men wouldn't mind going gay for.</p><p>I communicated the rest of the plan to them and spent the rest of the day waiting hungrily for the right time to finally strike. I was going to make Dmitri <i>beg</i> to go back to his communist dystopia. This was due to be my magnum opus of torture...</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. ...Like a Woman Scorned</h2></a>
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</p><p>Day ten.</p><p>It was seven in the morning. The time Dmitri was scheduled to take his daily shower. Dietrich and I strode through the prison building, following the sounds of running water. We entered the shower room, clouded with a thick mist of warm steam. Every surface was white tile, and like a gym shower, there were ten stalls. Although only one of them was currently occupied, guarded by Wagner. </p><p>Upon noticing us, he knocked on the side of the stall to get Dmitri's attention. <i>"Time's up!"</i> he barked.</p><p>My prisoner screwed the shower heads off and left the stall, buck naked and drying off with a towel. His cuts and bruises, disappointingly, were starting to fade.</p><p><i>"Your wounds are healing nicely,"</i> I announced, making my presence known. <i>"That's a shame."</i></p><p>He was obviously taken off guard, as I had never visited him during his showers before. He stumbled and flushed. <i>"My Führer!"</i> he exclaimed, instinctively reaching for a fresh pair of inmate clothes in an attempt to hide his extremities from me.</p><p><i>"No need to get dressed, Mr. Makarov,"</i> I informed with a cold smile. </p><p>I snapped, blinked, and my bodyguards' shadows were already engulfing Dmitri. He instinctively flinched and cowered, expecting another beating. Only to receive something much worse. Wagner and Dietrich instead unbuckled their belts, unbuttoned their trousers, and unzipped their flies. Big manly cocks as hulking as the men they belonged to hung out, crowned by bushes of blonde pubic hair. Achieving erections for them was effortless, the sight of Dmitri's naked, vulnerable body providing plenty arousal. Both manhoods were staggeringly long and thick; Dietrich was 23 centimeters while Wagner was 26, if I had to eyeball it. Well over twice, perhaps even closer to <i>thrice</i> the length and girth of Dmitri's.</p><p><i>"W-What the fuck?!"</i> the Soviet recoiled away in terrified confusion from my two most faithful soldiers boasting their cocks to him.</p><p>Wagner manhandled him to the ground, bringing himself to his knees and Dmitri down on all fours. Meanwhile, Dietrich remained standing so the Russian was eye-level with his groin. I could smell Dietrich's hypermasculine musk from two meters away, so I can't fathom how it must've been for Dmitri as it dangled and throbbed right in his face. Meanwhile, I excitedly dropped my skirt and panties before climbing up onto the nearest sink. I mounted the soles of my boots on its porcelain edges, spreading my thick muscular legs wide so I could begin touching myself. I had the perfect front-row seat for what was about to unfold. Dietrich grabbed Dmitri by his facial cheeks for leverage while Wagner grabbed him by the buttcheeks, squeezing the excess fat on his hips and spreading him wide to reveal his untouched anus. It was obvious from the difficulty Wagner had fitting in that Dmitri was a tight little virgin. But that ultimately didn't stop him from brute-forcing himself balls-deep into the boy. </p><p>The inmate yelped and whimpered squeakily as his rectal walls were torn wide open by over 20 centimeters of length. Dietrich shut his cries up by plugging his mouth with his cock. His gag reflex made it a bit difficult, but Dietrich managed by forcing himself all the way in. Dmitri's eyes went watery and bloodshot as his skull was forcibly stuffed with meat, Dietrich's tip pressing against the back of his throat. Now that the two were inside of their prey, they could begin sliding their waists back and forth. One scrotum spanked the Russian on the ass while another spanked him on the chin. It sounded like thunderous applause as Wagner and Dietrich ruthlessly gangraped Dmitri. Wagner ravaged his ass while Dietrich fucked his face, making his throat and rectal canal sore with friction. Meanwhile, I pleasured myself to this glorious display. It could be seen as nationalism symbolically asserting its rightful dominance over communism... Or simply two strapping German hunks turning a cute Russian boy inside out with their cocks. Whatever it was, it got me off like no other. </p><p>I felt intoxicated by hormones as I fanatically fingered myself. Dmitri's muffled blubbering against Dietrich's cock was orchestral music to my ears. Typical of men, both of my dogs climaxed disappointingly early. No matter. It was an unspoken rule that they weren't done until I was. Dietrich bucked into the prisoner's mouth and filled his throat with cum. Dmitri whimpered and gurgled as he was force-fed God knows how much semen. And the slut swallowed almost every drop, except for the mouthful that congested out onto his lips. After catching his breath, Dietrich continued thrusting. Meanwhile, Wagner reached his limit as well and pumped Dmitri full of sperm, forcing a legendary creampie upon his tight untouched hole until it overflowed down his thighs as streams of white. Then, he got right back to pounding his brains out, going for round two. Best of all, Dmitri's little cock was as flaccid as could be throughout the whole thing, hating every second of this. Sweet, sweet revenge, for daring to show affection to anyone else but me.</p><p><i>"Harder... HARDER!"</i> I demanded. Both Wagner and Dietrich complied, accelerating their thrusts to a likely excruciating speed and strength. Excruciating for Dmitri, of course. Orgasmic for myself. </p><p>Something awoke inside of me once Wagner, entirely of his own will, began spanking Dmitri to only further amplify his discomfort. Hard, brutal slaps on his cheeks that echoed throughout the shower room and left rosy red handprints. The ripples and jiggles of Dmitri's ass were downright hypnotic. I could see his spirit fade from his glazed-over eyes once he realized how relentless and inescapable his situation was. His hopelessness was so palpable I could taste it on my tongue. And it was delectable. That was what finally drove me to nirvana. My womanhood contracted around my fingers like an orgasmic cramp, compounded by my squeals. There was so much force churning inside my vagina that the accumulated juices were discharged, dramatically squirting outwards in a geyser. With their owner finally pleased, Wagner and Dietrich looked up and nodded at each other as they silently coordinated another couple of cumshots as a final satisfying punctuation to this spectacle. </p><p>They carelessly let the POW drop to the cold hard ground, freeing him of their cocks. They seized their dicks instead, finishing themselves off by masturbating fiercely. Their erections flexed in their grasps and spewed thick ropes that vandalized every crease in Dmitri's body with semen. Wreathes of cum painted his body like party streamers, landing and oozing everywhere. His hair, his face, his back; the poor boy was absolutely drenched. I believe our allies in Japan call this 'bukkake'. Just as Dmitri squirmed in a pool of blood the other day, now he stewed in a puddle of semen. Consumed by blush, I sat sweating profusely atop the sink, a disgusting mess. All three of my dogs looked at me expectantly in the tense and awkward afterglow of the brutal, sloppy gang rape. </p><p>I could only gasp out a single word, in a rare moment of vulnerability and weakness. <i>"...D-Dismissed."</i></p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Conjugal Visit</h2></a>
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</p><p>Day thirteen.</p><p>I let my favorite inmate recover from his punishment for three days. And for these three days, fantasies of Dmitri in sexually vulnerable positions haunted me relentlessly like vengeful spectres. I was hoping that a few 'conjugal visits' would scratch my itch of an obsession with him, but it all only made me want <i>more</i>. My libido was perpetual and unrelenting. Never in my life had I such lacked self-control. But I suppose that there's an exception to everything. </p><p>I approached and entered Dmitri's cell, my every movement careful not to wake its prisoner. My footsteps were soft, I churned the key slow and steadily, and I opened the door as quietly as I could, just a crack so I could slip in and close it back behind me. And there he was, sound asleep. My eyes were starved of his sight. I couldn't help but watch the boy slumber for a few minutes, resting relatively peacefully on his bed. Nothing would change the fact that his conditions were uncomfortable, but almost two weeks into his internment, he was used to it by now. His breathing was quiet and soft, certainly no snorer. He looked almost cute and serene... Let's change that. </p><p>After unbuttoning it, my skirt collapsed to my ankles, and I wasn't wearing panties underneath that night. 'Going commando', so to speak. While I was at it, I undid the top three buttons of my dress shirt too, letting my braless breasts breathe. 36Ds, their nipples were cold and hard, and my black tie nearly sunk into my cleavage. I stood over the bed and took a seat down on Dmitri's head, my buttcheeks swallowing his face. I could feel the fluttering of eyelashes, the huffing from nostrils, and the vibrations of a mumbling mouth against my buttcrack as Dmitri was rudely awoken. My buttocks smothered the poor boy half to death. I couldn't make out the muffled words he spoke, but the inflection of his incoherent murmurs ranged from confused to flustered to panicked. I started to grind my waist, first in a back and forth motion, then in a revolving, circular motion. I thoroughly stirred my hips with my ass pressed tightly against his face. He grabbed me by the waist and tried pulling me off, but he failed at easing the pressure. After having my fun and making sure he was wide awake, I finally relented, climbing down off of Dmitri and to the bedside. His face was smushed and reddened, and the first thing he did was heave breathlessly after being deprived of fresh air for three minutes. </p><p><i>"Well, good morning to you too, my Führer!"</i> Dmitri sarcastically quipped between his heavy gasps.</p><p><i>"You're in a good mood tonight, aren't you, worm?"</i> I asked with a giggle. <i>"I plan on crushing that cheeky little attitude of yours out of you."</i></p><p>I unholstered my service pistol and once again held the dirty communist at gunpoint. To be honest, I didn't need to dangle the threat of death over him anymore, but there was just something about beholding the jolt of fear Dmitri got every time he stared down a gun barrel that made me wet. </p><p><i>"Lie down on your back for me,"</i> I commanded.</p><p>Gulping, he did as he was told, giving me more room to climb back onto him so I could invade his personal space and straddle him. I seized his waistband and yanked his striped pants down to his knees, which made an erection spring out. </p><p><i>"Aroused, are we?"</i> I asked with a raised eyebrow. <i>"Perhaps you enjoy our encounters more than you first let on."</i></p><p><i>"N-No!"</i> he insisted, flustered and blushing as his legs subtly twitched in a subconscious attempt at hiding his boner. <i>"I just get... excited, sometimes..."</i></p><p><i>"Little slut~,"</i> I muttered under my breath with a giggle.</p><p>His erect penis stood ten pathetic centimeters tall upon his smooth crotch, twitching with every heartbeat. I grinned devilishly at the sight, before turning around and taking a seat on his dick. My bare ass nestled snugly into his naked lap. His manhood slotted right into my buttcrack, filling half my vagina up with every measly inch of his member. The puffy lips of my wet cunt swallowed his shaft in a single gulp. I grabbed my knees for leverage and adjusted myself into a squatting position. Then I worked my lower back up and down with Dmitri's cock wedged taut between my asscheeks. Those asscheeks, their fat loose and jiggly on my gluteal muscles, loudly slapped down on Dmitri's groin with every piston of my waist. The squeaks of mattress springs beneath us added to the sound.</p><p>As I bounced up and down on his dick, Dmitri mounted his hands on my sides, squeezing my love handles and moaning weakly. <i>"Ohhh, m-my Führer~,"</i> he shuddered needily.</p><p>I wasn't just content with hearing his cries; I needed to see him blush. Without cancelling the penetration, I turned around so I was facing Dmitri, then continued riding his dick like a cowgirl. This time to steady myself, I planted my hands down on his pecs, which were partially bare thanks to his shirt riding up. Dmitri held onto my chest too, but he had much more fat to play with than I did. He groped and squeezed my tits desperately, pinching my nipples between his fingertips and churning them. I allowed it, since the sensation was like a sharp high that tingled at the crown of my brain. I leaned downwards a bit, just enough so my chest neared his mouth. He used this opportunity to wrap his lips around my nipples and sloppily suck from them like a nursing child. His teeth grazed my sensitive areola and electrified my body even further, while his tongue licked and swirled around my erect teats. My knees began to ache, so I got down on my calves, straddling Dmitri's waist so I could ride him more comfortably and savor the pumping sensation that massaged my insides. Lacking the strength to continue fondling my breasts, all he could do was weakly clutch my thighs. </p><p>I continued holding him at gunpoint even as I fucked him. I held the Walther to his head so closely his lips were eventually wrapped around the muzzle, a bullet staring into the back of his throat. It was demeaning, dangerous, and suggestive. Reminded me of our last encounter, when I forced him to suck Dietrich's cock. I sacrificed trigger discipline for my sexual satisfaction. The gun barrel rested in his mouth, its chamber loaded, my finger on the trigger. There was so much risk in blowing the brains out the back of his skull, splattering them across the mattress, and I was inebriated by the ensuing sexual excitement. His moans were muffled by the cold iron spreading his lips open. I could see the fear in his eyes as he was forced to suck on the loaded gun, but I could also detect a faint sense of... trust. Like he knew I would never actually pull the trigger. A strangely intimate moment, in our own twisted way. </p><p>I withdrew the barrel from his mouth. It glistened with spit, and stuck to his lips through a string of saliva. I closed my eyes and moaned as the multiple different pleasures mixed and mingled in my body. Bliss gnawing at my nipples, gnawing at my womb. I was getting close. Dmitri was too. An ecstasy coursed through my reproductive tract and pounced on my vaginal muscles, forcing them to twist and generate a discharge of pussy juice. It all came out with a drawn-out squeal of pleasure reaching its peak. I managed to reduce my groan to a smothered squeak. My mind raged thunderously with hormones. I puckered my lips and panted carefully, catching my breath while my eyes peacefully opened and looked down at Dmitri, heaving and squirming underneath me. I slowly drew off my captive's dick, revealing it to be glistening beautifully with my juices. I climbed off of him and off the bed so I could pull my skirt back up to my waist.</p><p><i>"M-My Führer?"</i> he finally piped up, his short erection still twitching obnoxiously.</p><p><i>"What?"</i> I said with a stark hint of annoyance in my voice as I rebuttoned my clothes. I don't visit him to hear him speak, after all.</p><p>
  <i>"C-...Can I cum too?"</i>
</p><p>The audacity... He dare request <i>anything</i> of me, let alone something as precious as an orgasm? I was tempted to simply spit in his face, but I thought of a much more wicked punishment.</p><p><i>"...Okay."</i> I sat back down on the edge of the bed. <i>"I'll make you cum,"</i> I promised with a disarming smile.</p><p>The five fingers on my left hand gently wrapped around Dmitri's still-erect cock, clasping it in a loose fist. The smooth leather texture of my glove, the layer of vaginal lubricant still encasing it, and the leak of pre-cum from the tip all undoubtedly felt angelically soft and comfortable upon Dmitri's sensitive erection. My wrist dragged up and down slowly, then at an even speed, then quickly. The transitions between each shift in pace were seamless. Against my character, I was truly putting in an eloquent effort to give Dmitri the greatest handjob of his life. And his moans and shudders made it clear he agreed. As a matter of fact, his moans grew so loud that it became obvious he was nearing a climax already, after only a few minutes of me tugging on him. That was when, all of a sudden, I seized his tip with a pinch and <i>squeezed</i> as hard as I could. Dmitri locked up, confused by the change in sensation. </p><p>From orgasmic pleasure to aching pressure in less than a second. The sexual arousal was instantly snuffed from him. I could feel the rock solid muscle loosen between my fingers, before shrinking and going limp into a flaccid worm. Then, once it was thoroughly soft, I began lovingly caressing and massaging his cock once more. My fingerplay irresistible, it quickly hardened into a fresh erection. I masturbated that one for a while, as if nothing happened. I even got him to approach another climax again, a brand new one. But right before he was allowed release, I snatched it away from him at the last second again by squeezing the pleasure out of him. The second interrupted orgasm in a row started having adverse reactions on his manhood -- "blue-balls". The base of his cock was uncomfortably clogged with cum. If I pinched hard enough, I could feel his congested urethra between my fingertips. </p><p><i>"Wh-What are you doing?!"</i> he asked in confused discomfort. </p><p><i>"You cum when I <b>say</b> you cum,"</i> I growled in a low tone, with a dark and piercing stare.</p><p>I began stroking again, elegantly whipping his wrist up and down. This time, he wasn't getting hard. I sighed angrily upon realizing what I had to do. Just for a brief moment, I reduced myself to bobbing my head down and tickling his cock with my tongue, just long enough to goad it into an erection. Dmitri's soft cries of tenderness while doing so were almost mocking me. It was demeaning, but sometimes, you must shelve your pride to get results. I edged him mercilessly, bending his very body to my will and my will alone. His little balls twisted and contorted, cramping painfully as they were due to nearly burst with the over-swelling of cum inside them. </p><p>His scrotum clearly ached even worse than when I stomped it, and I hardly had to even touch him this time. Men are so laughably easy to control. I repeated the process again and again. Masturbate him to the point of nigh-ejaculation, forcibly squeeze his cock back into flaccidity, restart an erection, rinse, repeat. I did it once more, twice, thrice, four times... Each time, the muscles in his groin got more and more agonized, and his inevitable orgasm got bigger and bigger. With one hand, I jerked him off, and with the other, I checked my watch. I had been doing this for a solid thirty minutes. No doubt the most excruciating and helpless half-hour of Dmitri's life. </p><p><i>"My Führer, pleeease!"</i> he pleaded with tears in his eyes. <i>"I'm begging you, let me cum! I'll do anything!!"</i></p><p>I was tempted to make him go until the end of the hour, but my wrist was getting tired, and I got what I wanted anyways -- to hear him beg like a blubbering child. I squeezed his cock tight in my clenched hand and began jerking intensely, no bullshit. Dmitri's cries swelled, before finally I could feel strong muscle cramps in my fist as a discharge began. A rope of semen thicker than the urethra it came from shot up an entire meter into the air like a fountain, falling onto Dmitri's body. It pooled in his belly button, it smeared across his chest, it splattered across his face, it matted into his hair. Then even more ropes came spewing out, seven of them. Some shorter and weaker than the first, others longer and stronger. It was honestly the most spectacular thing I had ever seen in my sex life. How could such tiny testes, ones no bigger than grapes, hold such profuse amounts of semen? </p><p>Dmitri's hips bucked as his body was exorcised of this gooey white demon, and his noises were totally unrestrained. A mixture of cries, shudders, grunts, moans, groans, squeaks, squeals. His vocal range was thoroughly exercised within seconds. It was so discordant yet somehow so harmonious. His cock finally relented, no longer discharging, only weakly trickling cum out the tip like a sink tap. I knew a man's tip was the most hypersensitive thing on his body immediately after ejaculating, like a woman's clitoris, so I sadistically exploited this by teasing his sore and tender pink head with my thumb. He bit the sleeve of his shirt like a mouthguard and tried his best at restraining another squeal. I let go of Dmitri and took a final look at him. Everything above his waist was splattered with cum. He had thoroughly bukkake'd himself, almost as much as the combined efforts of Wagner and Dietrich. He even gave himself a messy facial. What a pathetic little mess. A fitting punishment for an ungrateful hog that demanded equal treatment.</p><p><i>"You asked for release, and I provided. Now squirm in your own filth like the pig you are,"</i> I spat with an acid-laced tongue as I got up from the bed and took my leave.</p><p><i>"...Th-Thank you!"</i> Dmitri weakly called out, only focusing on the relief I generously graced him with.</p><p>I stopped for a second, fists clenching angrily. This stupid boy was immune to my abuse. He always missed the point of my insults. Ugh. My artistic mastery of psychological torment was being wasted on this meatheaded Russian. Oh well. I had my fun. Upon locking his cell, I left the boy to sleep underneath a blanket of his own cum.</p>
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